


Dead Dads Club

by little_murmaider



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Blatantly ripping off a Grey's Anatomy scene, Dethdad Coda, Gallows Humor, Gen, It's metal to watch medical soap operas!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 05:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10269329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_murmaider/pseuds/little_murmaider
Summary: Toki and Murderface have something in common.





	

**Author's Note:**

> An expanded Tumblr request [inspired by Grey's Anatomy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ub21sp-zru0). What a time to be alive!

Toki was quiet the whole trip home. He didn’t descend into one of his glassy-eyed, gaping-mouth walking comas, as he was wont to do whenever his past came up. He didn't display any of his other typical, attention-whore-in-distress behavior. No wanton destruction of property, no eardrum-splitting screams. Just downcast, weighty silence.  
  
Which meant he was fine, probably. Murderface and the others were content to leave him to his own devices. (Once, Skwisgaar toed his boot, raising his eyebrows inquisitively when Toki met his gaze. Toki shrugged; Skwisgaar resumed playing scales.) When they touched down at Mordhaus Toki disembarked without a word, skulking off with hands in his pockets. Again, probably fine. Who among them didn’t take a solitary sad walk-around after dumping their dad’s corpse in a frozen lake?  
  
Hours later, Murderface needed a reprieve from Nathan and Pickles and those goddamn piece of shit motherfucking _fireworks_. He stomped through the dining hall, the research and development ward, the IT department, seeking sympathy and finding none. He charted an aimless course to the yard, hoping to knife out his frustrations on a defenseless tree. The yard was not unoccupied. Toki sat at the picnic table, plucking splinters off the table top. Murderface groaned. Just once, _just once_ he would like something to be about him.  
  
“Hey bro,” he said as he approached. “Schitty day, huh?”  
  
Toki didn’t respond. Murderface hunkered down beside him. The setting sun illuminated the distant hills in crimson light.  
  
“Scho, uh,” Murderface said after a time. “Juscht wanted to, take a minute and welcome you to the club.”  
  
Toki blinked. His brow creased. “Whats?”  
  
“The Dead Dad Club. _Very_ excluschive.” He leaned back, cradling his head in his knit fingers. “Yeaaaaaah I’ve been looking to recruit new membersch for a while, but pickingsch have been schlim. Nathan’sch not in, **obviouschly** , let’sch not get into that.”  
  
Toki’s eyes flitted to Murderface, searching.  
  
“Picklesch _schaysch_ hisch dad is dead _to him_ , but you know what! If that douschebag _wanted_ to give hisch dad a ring and mouth off, what’sch schtopping him! I can’t call _my_ dad. What am I gonna do, wire a phone line out of hisch urn?”  
  
In the outer edges of his vision, Murderface could see Toki slowly turn to face him.  
  
“Now Schkwishgaar, _there’sch_ an intriguing casche. Asch it schtandsh, _hisch_ dad hasch the potential to be either dead _or_ alive. A real Schrodinger’sch Dad. But eh, I brought it up to the Executive Board and they schaid we gotta go by Horror Movie Rules. Don’t schee a body, can’t confirm a kill. So Schkwishgaar’sch out.”  
  
“What de fucks ams you talking abouts?”  
  
Murderface paused. The breeze carried the hint of a chill. Soon it would be fall.  
  
“The end of the day there'sch only one rule of Dead Dad Club. Gotta have a dead dad. The longescht time it wasch only me. Now you're in.” He clucked his tongue. “ _Congratulationsch._ ”  
  
Toki’s eyes felt like twin laser beams burning through his skin. Murderface looked over, expecting confusion or even fury. He anticipated a screeching demand to get the fuck out of there; he was used to those by now.  
  
But Toki’s face was soft. His wide-eyes glistened, his lips curved in the smallest smile.  
  
“We's ins a club?” he muttered.  
  
He scoffed. “Until Picklesch putsch a bullet through his dad’sch head. That’sch a matter of _when_ , not _if_. But yeah. We’re in a club.”  
  
“You and mes?”  
  
Murderface couldn’t offer much to anyone. But he’d spent a lifetime in this feeling, an uneasy cocktail of guilt and shame and rage and sadness. He got it. He could at least offer Toki that.  
  
“I’ll level with you,” he said, “it’sch a pretty schitty club.”  
  
“Must bes!” Toki chirped, tears spilling down his face. “If de only members ams you and mes, it’s gots to bes de worst clubs ins de world!”  
  
Despite himself, Murderface laughed.  
  
“I know, right? What kind of dumbassch letsch two schitbagsh like usch in?”  
  
“Whats a bunch of fuckings idiots!”  
  
Toki snorted. His face crumbled, and he laid his head onto his folded arms. Murderface raised a hand to lower on his back, but stalled. An open-palm seemed a little excessive, kind of toeing the line in terms of gayness. He made a fist and thumped it between Toki’s shoulderblades. He imagined Toki’s back as a shifter on a ‘71 Charger, the shift knob squeezed tight in his hand. He moved from first gear, to third, to fifth. Cool. Masculine.  
  
“So memberschip feesch are due on the 15th,” he said. Toki made a snuffling noise--Murderface couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a sob. Probably both. “You can pay in one lump schum, or I can schet you up on an inschtallment plan.”  
  
“We shoulds get jackets!  
  
Often Murderface’s hatred felt like something hard and physical within him, a stone in the pit of his stomach. It was still there, maybe it always would be. But in that moment, at least, he believed it was malleable.


End file.
